


Have a Heart

by Splatx



Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [15]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Have A Heart, Lots of animals, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sign Language, Starting Over, lots of horses, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29539293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: In the end, the woman was shot off the back of the wagon.Her gang rode away as she bled out in the sand.Cliff thought it was a bad idea.Allison said, “She saved our life,” and he had to agree - if it wasn’t for her he’d be the one bleeding out on the ground, if not dead already.So he gathered the woman up, bandaged her up as quickly as he could, intending to do it up proper later, and tied her stallion’s reins to the lantern-post of the wagon.
Relationships: Allison O'Dowd/Red Dead Online Protagonist, Cliff/Allison O'Dowd, Cliff/Red Dead Online Protagonist, Cliff/Red Dead Online Protagonist/Allison O'Dowd
Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876702
Kudos: 3





	Have a Heart

Cliff had known Terrence wouldn't leave he and Allison be.

He had never been a good man. Cliff robbed, he killed, most of the time with little provocation. But Allison had tamed him, some. He'd softened since meeting her, had pulled back, killed less, stole less. She seemed to have that sort of effect, he'd found, even the worst of his gang members doing the same. 

But Terrence O'Dowd was the worst sort of man, the sort of man that Cliff had refused to be, who he had never accepted into his gang. The sort who used women, who bent them to his will and saw them as little more than animals. 

But he hadn't expected the folks O'Dowd sent after them to be, well… competent. 

Obviously, he was wrong, seeing as most every damn member of his gang lay dead outside their hut. He would feel guilty later, would mourn and bury them if he could, but for now he had a much more pressing matter.

“Look, I’ll give you all we have. It ain’t much, but it’s something.”

They had been saving up money, hoping to move the gang somewhere safer—away from Tumbleweed, away from Terrence O’Dowd, away from anyone who knew them where they could start anew. Somewhere away from Del Lobos and Skinners, O’Driscolls and Raiders. Where they could establish themselves as their own gang, be something more than a rag-tag bunch of outlaws, have their names be known and strike fear in the hearts of travelers, become as infamous as the O’Driscolls and the Van Der Linde Gang.

“Just help us escape from here.”

And giving away that money _hurt_ , but these types of people only ever responded to greased pockets and if it kept Allison safe then so be it.

Allison was going off behind him, and he wanted to tell her to _be quiet_ and to hold her tongue. But she was headstrong, and he knew she wouldn’t, would only get more upset if he did. He feared, though, that her words would only spur them on, agitate them into action before he could convince them to help them escape. And her words hurt, it was four against one and he wasn’t a fast enough shot to take them all down before they could shoot him, and he was terrified that they would drag Allison back to that horrible O’Dowd.

“Come on folks... have a heart.”

It was a last-ditch, desperate plea, and they didn’t look the sort to be moved by emotions. The leader, a massive, mountain of a man, was looking between his gang members—a rat-like fellow snorted and shook his head, and a short, squat bulldog of a man smirked. Even as they did so the man’s hand was going for his gun, the other two following, and Cliff began to reach for his. But the woman was frowning, looking from him, to Allison, and then to the leader of her gang, before her eyes flicked to the other two. The leader hadn’t looked at her, Cliff realized, and the man stepped away from her touch on his arm as she stepped forward as though she were something filthy, a mangy dog leaning on him in hopes of a scratch between the ears. But he bent down enough that he could hear her, standing on the tips of her toes to reach his ear, and then he looked between her and Cliff thoughtfully, eyes alight with greed.

The man waved his hand lazily, and although they looked deeply disappointed the rat and the bulldog holstered their guns. Relief loosened the knot in his chest, and Cliff had to swallow, his mouth dry as he called to Allison, “I think they’re going to help us,” the man nodding in confirmation.

_‘Oh, thank God.’_

The relief in Allison’s voice was tangible as she stumbled forward, gasping “Oh, thank you,” over and over, and it took all he had to keep from raising his arm to keep himself between her and them. The whole lot of them looked no better than Terrence O’Dowd himself; Cliff didn’t want her any closer to them than she had to be.

“Come on,” he addressed both Allison and the gang-members whose names he neither knew, nor cared to know, “wagon’s outside,” his eyes flicked to the mountain of a man, “money there too.” They’d stashed it in the wagon to make for a quick getaway, for this exact scenario. But in all the plans they’d made, the entirety of the gang hadn’t been slaughtered, and so he found himself caught flat-footed.

  
  


Bile rose in his throat as they walked outside, seeing what remained of his gang, of his brothers in all but blood. They laid, scattered like little more than discarded corn husk dolls, crows scattered and already picking at their wounds, a condor already beak deep in Daniel’s chest. It was a horrific sight, and he hated to leave them to rot, to bake and be picked down to the bone by scavengers, maybe even dragged away and eaten slowly by coyotes or cougars. But if he wanted he and Allison to live, to have a chance at a life of freedom, then he’d have to do so.

So he led them to the wagon, helping Allison up into the shotgun seat, not trusting any of them to sit beside him, though offered two of them to sit in the back. All but the girl mounted their horses, the rat-man onto a black thoroughbred with scarred up flanks, the bulldog onto a tired-looking standardbred, and the bear of a leader up onto a sorrel suffolk punch that looked just as mean.

  
  


He whipped Whist and Snooker into motion, hearing the girl whistle from her perch in the back of the wagon, a monster of a horse leaping to canter after them almost lazily. “It’s a massacre!”

Allison’s voice held the horror he hadn’t dared to show, to give the man and his little gang the satisfaction, staring passed him at the scattered corpses and splashes of blood, the fading streaks of black feathers as the crows darted this way and that, their fellows joining them, rapidly increasing in number. “They killed them all, Cliff!” and he was sure he heard the leader chuckle, the girl make a funny sound.

He wanted to comfort her, but it wasn’t the time, so he simply told her to “Close your eyes,” his heart breaking when she tried to apologize, and he wanted nothing more than to soothe her but he didn’t dare show much weakness in front of the gang and he needed to focus on the road, he already feared a bullet in the back from the men, didn’t put it above them to change their minds for no reason at all. So he shook his head, daring to put his hand on her arm, “We can’t think about that right now, they knew what they was getting into, taking on O’Dowd.” It was true, they had. Anyone who had a problem with Allison had been summarily sent away, and for safety they’d moved up to Twin Rocks just in case any of them got a wild hair and thought of turning on them.

“None of us ever thought we was gonna live very long,” but… well, he wanted to now. Allison deserved better than a husband who’d be shot dead before she turned thirty, and he wanted a long, nice life with her.

The leader huffed a laugh, and he took a deep breath—this wasn’t the time for this. So he raised his voice, Allison startling, “Hey! All of you!” and the woman in the back turned to eye him, tightening her grip on her shotguns, “Fill your chambers and watch the roads. His men will be close and they won’t wait long after seeing us. We aren’t safe until we’re out of this valley.”

“That’s my husband! Sending killers after killers.” and he could have cringed - never insult those what would put a bullet in you for an imagined insult - and tried for a joke, and was almost relieved when the first of O’Dowd’s men rode up.

And he was right.

It was a massacre.

  
  


In the end, the woman was shot off the back of the wagon.

Her gang rode away as she bled out in the sand.

Cliff thought it was a bad idea.

Allison said, “She saved our life,” and he had to agree - if it wasn’t for her he’d be the one bleeding out on the ground, if not dead already.

So he gathered the woman up, bandaged her up as quickly as he could, intending to do it up proper later, and tied her stallion’s reins to the lantern-post of the wagon.

_‘This,’_ he thought, _‘is a very bad idea.’_


End file.
